


Thawing

by Ellstra



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Dehumanization, M/M, Recollecting, Torture, split personality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-02-03 00:17:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1724147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellstra/pseuds/Ellstra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Winter is cold but even the most icy bits must thaw and melt into something else and - hopefully - beautiful.</i><br/>Winter Soldier doesn't know that yet and he struggles for guidance in the world that is shattering into pieces. One inescapable moment tore all he knew appart and threw him into a situation he doesn't comprehend. One fateful meeting changed his perception of the world. One face among many keeps appearing in his mind and he is on the quest to find out who the person is and in the end, who is WInter Soldier and who he used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Abode

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this right when I got back from the cinema to see the Winter Soldier. It was supposed to be a short, quick, plotless description of Winter's feelings as he was slowly becoming Bucky again. But it got out of my hands so I'm dividing it.
> 
> Also, I feel obliged to warn you that there will be torture and mentions of rape in the story. It's not bad but well, people do put warnings into their stories so you've been warned.

He has always been the Winter Soldier. He hasn't known love, compassion or friendship. He didn't need emotions; the only things he ever needed were ability to kill, assassinate, murder. He had to know how to torture a man, not how to love one. He had to be able to think of ten various ways how to kill a man in few seconds, he was programmed to murder in blood colder than ice. He had a metal arm to slay not to caress. He wore a mask to keep his identity not to hide tears of pain and facial expressions.

He doesn't remember anything else so it must be the truth. Why would he not remember it if it was important? And if it wasn't important why would it exist? His memory that only keeps the necessary knowledge he needs for killing doesn't provide him with anything else, anything useless, with a single memory of something nice, pleasant or good. He doesn't remember going to a cinema with friends so it must be a redundant activity. He has never known somnolence people feel when they fall in love and therefore love must be unimportant. He has never run his fingers down a soft skin of another person, he has never smelled a flower just to do it; he has never done anything but killing.

His mind tries to convince him he doesn't need it. He has never needed it; he was successful on his missions and that was what mattered. Compassion would be only a burden if he was supposed to kill somebody he knew or simply somebody pitiful. He doesn't need to know what a kiss feels like to slit a throat. He doesn't need to hear whispered love confessions to throttle somebody. He needn't know what it feels like to hold a person in his arms to pull the trigger.

And yet his body struggles. It's only weak and he has never felt it before, but he knows it has been there all the time. Only all the doors leading to it were safely sealed so he won't see the truth. His mind is broken and twisted and he feels like a stranger in his own body. He knows he once was a sovereign of both his soul and frame and tries to find the way to feel whole again. He was satisfied when he knew nothing about the possibility – possibility – of having a free will. He hadn't needed to control his life before he realised it was possible.

But all that has changed because of  _him_. In one brief moment when they looked into each other's eyes and something changed within them both. They just stared, forgot they were supposed to fight and read the confusion in each other's eyes. They were both asking questions and no answers came. Their eyes locked and something was processing in Bucky's mind. Suddenly, as if he wasn't just the Winter Soldier. It felt like he had known the other man and not only from the last mission. Something was telling him they were close. The way the blond watched him was not new, the set of emotions written all over his face were so easy to read in he must have seen them before, the way he was puckering his forehead when thinking was all too familiar.

He shouldn't have known it. He was the Winter Soldier. He had no redundant memories, he only existed to serve the people who woke him up from his induced sleep every once in a while. He wasn't supposed to be thinking; he was leaving that to others. The only thing he was expected to consider was a way how to execute his task. He wasn't supposed to ask so he wasn't asking.

But that has disappeared in the moment when he locked his eyes with the other man and something clicked in his mind. Those blue eyes were burning holes into his soul and into the well-shaped layer of ignorance covering his mind. He knew this man recognised him.

"Bucky?"

Bucky?  _Bucky?_  Who was Bucky?

He shielded his emotions with mask of indifference but his mind was working very fast. His body was reacting to that name. No, he wasn't responding only to the name even though the name was familiar. He had a momentary feeling he had heard it being pronounced by the exact same lips many times before. Many times – with worry, sorrow, pain, anger but also with compassion, affection and desire. For a while he almost remembered something. He could practically feel it resurfacing after many years in exile deep in his mind, but then it drowned in his hopelessly dull memories again. It slipped through his fingers and he knew it was because of the metal arm. It couldn't capture fleeting image because it was too cold, too inhuman.

Bucky. Was he Bucky? Or was the other man Bucky? Or was it someone else? Or was it an animal, a thing, something. He had to know; maybe it was the key to that ephemeral thought. He suspected it was a very important fact but he couldn't grasp it. Why would it be important? If he was called Bucky, then what? How did matter when he was a tool that didn't need name? If the other man was Bucky, it was just as unimportant. The people who told him to kill this familiar stranger knew everything about the man. Just because they didn't bother to tell him didn't mean they didn't have the information. And if Bucky was somebody or something else, it was pointless to lose time thinking about it. And yet he just needed to ask.

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

All what happened after that remained a bit blurry. It was so intense he simply didn't know what to focus on. There were just too many perceptions his brain shut down from exertion. His question triggered thousands of emotions from the other man. He held the shield loose in his hands, stared at him with his mouth agape. His eyes begged the Winter Soldier to withdraw the sentence. He looked so lost and desperate. It would be so easy to kill him now, now when he was confused, disorientated and lost. Only few steps divided them, he wouldn't have had any chance. And yet they both stood on the spot, watched each other and the world stopped existing.

Why was this man so familiar? Why did it hurt him when the Winter Soldier didn't know who Bucky was? He was a soldier - of winter, summer or whatever else – and he wasn't given names when he didn't need them. And once they weren't needed, they were erased from his mind. But this one was different. He wasn't remembering the name and yet he was certain it had a great meaning and importance. Somehow he knew this name had influence on him and yet he couldn't point on what might have caused it.

The Winter Soldier walks slowly towards the lab where they will pin him down and erase his memory once again. He has never minded before, the recollections of previous missions had no meaning to him, they had no value. But this time it was different. He wanted to remember the face of the man who touched his soul. The man who looked at him for a mere second and said one single word and influenced his life more than he could remember any other person to do so.

That man is important part of his life. He doesn't know how that can be possible since he has no real life, no experiences worth recalling, and no memories worth keeping. And yet that man looked at him as if he was an important person. And not important as a dangerous assassin but important as a human being. Does he know something the Winter Soldier doesn't have any idea about?

Suddenly it isn't only about the emotions and recollections that surrounded the mysterious man, now it is hunger for information. It may be more of a wish than actual fact but he is determined to catch the man who said one word that had thousands of meanings and ask him what he meant. He wants to ask hundreds of questions but most importantly the only one.

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

Because the answer to this question may hide the real one, the one he doesn't dare to dream of getting. But the man with shield looked at him, through him and said one word. Bucky. The real question isn't who is Bucky. The question is who is the Winter Soldier and if he is Bucky.

He lets the men surrounding him lead him to the secret lab but inside he wants to scream. He's not a puppet and he can't be controlled or abused, which is precisely what they are doing, as he now understands. Since the moment he looked into the eyes of the guy with shield made of the hardest metal he had ever held in hands – and damn he had experience with metal – he's known he wasn't told everything. And in the other pair of eyes he saw a promise of something else, something more. Explanation, story and maybe if he was good enough even the truth. He knows it's probably only his imagination telling him things – maybe they're testing him or something – but he can't help but hope. He will meet that man again. It doesn't matter that they are going to erase him in a while. He's convinced that if the other man really is as important as it appears, he will stay in the memory of the Winter Soldier forever. Maybe not as clear memories of a man with face, because these images were always too specific and were the first things to be taken from him. But the vague, abstract feeling of self-awareness couldn't be taken away from him because it is not a recollection. He is angry, hell, he's  _furious_  because he can do nothing to stop them from deleting his mind, but he still feels victorious. It has no meaning keeping the thought too visible in his mind; he's learnt that long ago. He suppresses it and sends it deeper into his consciousness.

' _Sergeant Barnes', somebody leans above him. Pain, confusion, fear. All the pain, smell of metal and blood, fear for his own life. 'Bucky, no!' another man shouts and the voice is familiar. He's so close to knowing, to recollecting, but it hurts so much, he's falling down faster than he thought was possible, wind slaps his cheeks roughly._

' _Bucky, no!' he hears it again. And he keeps falling. Everything is white, so white his eyes hurt. He doesn't remember hitting the ground, but he must have hit it._

_Shouldn't he be dead? He should be dead. It hurts. Death isn't supposed to hurt. Was he alive then?_

' _The procedure has already started,' the same voice that called him Sergeant Barnes adds. He can't see the man who produces it, but it has a terrible German accent. What is he doing somewhere near a German?_

_Agony shields his mind, sounds of whittling, fire within his fibres. He can't say if he's awake or if everything is a hallucination. And amidst that all, that familiar voice._

' _Bucky, no!'_

_Bucky? Was he Bucky? How did he get this memory?_

_He cries from the pain and anger and_ why did they take the other man from him? _He knew him, he was sure he knew him. Was he his friend?_

' _You are to be ze new fist of HYDRA.' He hears. He notices he has caught some man's throat. He knows it's his hand throttling him, but that's not his arm, it can't be his arm. His arm is made of flesh, tanned not cold and metallic. He lets go of the man in disgust._

' _Put him on ice.' He doesn't have time to understand the situation before they put him into a small box – a coffin?! – and it freezes. Hurts and yet tempers, it freezes so much he feels like he was set on fire. And slowly he loses grip of reality and slip into nothingness._

Before he knows what he's doing the anger he feels projects into his behaviour. His metal arm clench into a fist and he punches one of those – doctors? Mechanics? Whoever – that stands the closest. Soon enough many guns are pointed at him. He forces himself to calm down even though it only angers him more. Is he an animal in zoo?

"Mission report." A man enters the room. What was his name? The soldier can't remember. Maybe he wasn't told it, he wouldn't be surprised. He stares in front of himself blankly, completely lost in his memory. He's certain he got further this time. That man he thought he had never seen before was in his mind. Maybe he was projecting him there. And maybe he wasn't.

Why would he picture the man shouting his name – his name? – as he falls from a train if it wasn't true? Why would he picture this situation in particular? He did remember the falling – it was so deep within his soul nothing was going to ever rob him off of it. Was his imagination more skilled than he assumed or was it the truth? Could it be the truth? Did he truly once know the man whose eyes narrated epics?

"Mission report, now!" says the man, dressed so fine he could not do anything else to look more alien in the surroundings in the building that served as a lab, dormitory and sometimes a prison for an assassin.

But the Winter Soldier doesn't see that. He still sees the blue eyes. Those specific blue eyes he is sure he once knew and as he realises wants to know again. He remembers their fight. They must have known each other, no matter what others said, he has wrestled with that man before. He is a superior soldier and he has great reflexes and skills, but he has never fought this easily. He didn't need to think about his next move; he just did it as if he knew his opponent's weaknesses by heart. But so did the other man. The predicted each other's moves and it felt as if they had trained it before. It felt like dancing based on a learnt choreography. And it was beautiful as nothing else he remembered.

The noble man comes closer and bents down to level his eyes with the soldier's.

He continues on giving him a blank gaze that says nothing. Suddenly he wakes up from his trance by a slap to the face. It doesn't hurt but it surprises him.

He feels dizzy and disorientated. He's sure he was close to understanding an important fact that had impact on his life. He thought he could give the face and voice a body and even some memory. But that left with the slap. Usually he would be very angry and rage but he is so deep in thoughts he doesn't realise he was punched.

"The man on the bridge," he says. He doesn't seem to notice he was asked a question; he just has a confused expression on his face. He tries to think but the thread leading to the solution was torn in half. But the image of the man still fills his mind, the blond with blue eyes – a god of perfection – looking at him in pain. Who is this man?

"Who was he?" the Winter Soldier whispers weakly.

"You met him earlier this week on another assignment." The man replies and it is such an obvious lie the soldier doesn't even bother himself with pointing it out. Yes, he did meet him – he remembers it – but that is not the whole truth. That only confirms the Soldier's opinion that the man is an important part of his life. He can't remember him but he was brainwashed thousands of times and he spent the majority of his life in his frozen coffin. And maybe – just maybe – he had a life before the fall from the train.

"I know him," he murmurs and looks down. He doesn't know why he said it. He even thinks it was a bad idea to reveal just how much he figured out. But he isn't acting logically – he's so overwhelmed and excited because he knows somebody. He has never known anyone. Only met and let go or killed. It was a wonderful feeling to say he knew somebody. He had no idea how he could know that but something was telling him he did indeed know the man.

"Your work has been a gift to mankind," the man dressed in suit sits down before he speaks as if he didn't hear what the soldier said, "you shaped the century. And we need you to do it one more time."

One more time? And then what? Will you kill me? Or won't you waste such a good tool? Will you let me sleep for centuries before I'm needed again? Will I become even more confused and isolated than I am now? That's what you want – to force me to be alone?

"Society is on the tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning we're going to give it a push." The man explains as if the Winter Soldier was an idiot. He understands it all. He just no longer sees the aims of this man as his priorities. His most important thing is to find the shield guy, to find out who he is and maybe his own identity. "But...you don't do your part and I can't do mine. And HYDRA can't give the world the freedom it deserves."

The Winter Soldier considers it all. He feels like a child in kindergarten but he gives those ideas a try. It has some part of truth in it, but as he has learnt, every lie has a bit of truth in it. It wasn't important if the world deserved freedom or not, he couldn't care less about the outcome of this mission. He needed to find out something about his past.

"But I knew him," he responds, as if it was the only correct remark. He curls his lips in a grimace that says 'I'm sorry, but I'm not in this.' His opponent sighs, stands up and goes towards one of the men the Winter Soldier has learnt to call keepers.

"Prep him." He says coldly and the Soldier can't help but smirk. That was it. Fate must be very cynical to let this happen.

"He's been out of the cryotube for too long." Somebody replies in horror. The soldier has no idea what they are talking about.

"Then wipe him and start over." The director orders and everybody glances at the Soldier who smirks for himself and tries to save as much of his new-found memory as possible. He also keeps the hatred for this man who thought he could be giving orders.

He lets them tie him down and his last conscious thought belongs to the blond man with shield. Then everything goes black, white and colourful at the end, the world stops existing and only the pain that feels like somebody was smashing his fibres in attempt to break them into atoms surrounds him and finally lulls him into merciful unconsciousness.


	2. Breakdown

The Winter Soldier wakes up and the first thing he notices is darkness, darkness everywhere. He tries to sit up, but he's not allowed to, something keeps him pinned down. When his brain starts to function and process sensations it receives from other parts of his body, he understands he's lying on his back. His wrists are fastened down to whatever he's placed on and so are his ankles, shins, thighs, waist, upper arms and finally also his neck. When he's aware of all parts of his body and makes sure there is a neural connection between each of them and his brain, he moves on to another ritual that follows waking up – actual recollection.

_I have HYDRA to thank for my life. I must serve HYDRA. Serving HYDRA is a favour to the mankind. HYDRA decides who the target is and I do what I am told to do. I do not ask questions, HYDRA tells me everything I need to know. I do not hesitate to kill every single person HYDRA tells me to kill. I do not know compassion or love. Even if killing a target means destroying a whole state, I have to fulfil my mission. I am nothing. HYDRA owns me._

He realises that some of the lines seem senseless and not his own. There's a furrow between his eyebrows as he tries to get through the haze of artificial memories. He knows they're wrong even though he has no idea why he thinks so.

_Bucky?_

_Incomprehensible and yet interesting word. Look of pain and yet happiness. Man strange and yet familiar. Confusion, so much confusion. I need to know-_

_The man on the bridge, who was he?_

_Careless, stupid but vital question. Who was he?_

_Your work has been a gift to mankind._

_Don't fool me. Idiot. Gonna rip your heart out of your chest. Liar. LIAR! Is everything a fraud? What does the smile mean? Who is he?_

_Bucky?_

_What is this word? Does it mean anything? I'm afraid._

_Bucky no!_

_Why did I fall? Catch me, please please please, catch me! I don't wanna die. Why did you let me fall? I love you, catch me. I'm falling, don't you see, catch me! I didn't die, look, come get me. I'm here, come for me. Why aren't you coming? Please, I'm so cold, it hurts, my arm is on fire, it hurts. You left me, it hurts. Come for me, don't you hear? I'm here, come for me. I'm frightened, come for me! It hurts, come please. There are so many noises here, it hurts, my head aches, come. Please, please, please!_

_This is your new target._

_Get him. Get him; why, what did he do? Got one eye – a cripple, pitiful. Dangerous? Why? Not supposed to ask questions. Not supposed to think. Pain._

_Tell them I'm in pursuit._

_Failure? No, shot him, shot him precisely, hesitation. Caught a glimpse. Who's the other man? He's here. A sound, what is it? Hard, metal object. Surprise in his eyes – not used to seeing people catching it? Smirk. Here you go, man._

_You met him earlier this week on another assignment._

_Yeah. More. Next. Another. I want to know. Tell me!_

_Who was he?_

_Bucky?_

_Bucky, no!_

_So similar. Identical. The one who left me. The help that didn't come. Raw, crude hatred. Pain, so much pain, and blood everywhere. Janus, the god with two faces. Hate. Letdown. Solace._

_I know him._

_Get to know his name._

The Winter Soldier gasps for air as he ends with his recalling. He knows everything comes with a price, but this one may be a bit too high. His head spins and he feels nauseous. He has probably pushed his mind and body too far and now he'll break. Break? What would it mean? What could be worse than this?

Than being a tool, a weapon a mere  _thing._  What could be worse than being treated like a lifeless object or even worse a mentally retarded child? What could be worse than not even having a  _name_? Everybody has a name, but not him. He has some nicknames, words his keepers use when talking about him but that's not a name, that's a label. It's as if he was a sheep dog; needed and important but certainly not loved. Referred to as 'it' or 'the subject' – they don't even try to pretend he's a person.

The soldier wonders why he's never minded before. Or maybe he did and he just doesn't remember, everything's so blurry, clouded but he managed to see through the haze, remember something...

What was it?

He's sure he has remembered. He was dreaming, he was far away, he saw his past. Hasn't he? Then where is it?! He wants it, wants it, wants it more than he should. He shouldn't want anything, he's a thing,  _I am nothing, HYDRA owns me_.

He tosses as much as he could which hurts but not enough to make him stop. He shakes himself in frustration, his body protests by sending reports of damage made to his flesh but he ignores the pain. It's as if he's gone completely mad, out of control. He's short of breath because of the strain on his throat but that doesn't make him cease; quite the opposite, he throws his head aback even more, to the point when he's no longer able to keep his mouth closed. His eyes move frenetically in their sockets and the fingernails of his right hand dig into the palm, drawing blood. He clutches his metal fist as well but he's unable to cause any damage.

His lips are turning blue from the asphyxiation but he's far too gone to be saved by his self-preservation instinct. He's gone mad from the mess his recollection caused to his blank mind unaccustomed to holding memories. It was as if a person who is starving for a long time ate a lot. His mind just gave in, blacked out and threw up all its content. It was a long, long time since he had his own free will that so many independent thoughts occupied him too much for him to handle it.

Before he can strangle himself in his seizure, his keepers come inside the room to check on him. When they find him tossing around with purple lips, they untie him immediately and stab him with an injection of sedatives. The soldier's body submits, calms down and his lungs start to fill in again. His keepers take his vitals and observe his brain function. There, where too much activity was just moments ago are now only a few barely perceptible waves of neural changes.

Their first worry is that they'd made a mistake; miscalculated the amount of memory they had to take away from him. If that was the truth, they were practically dead. However, that would not explain the seizure they have seen. No, it must have been the other way around. Neither of them believed it could happen, but it is the only logical conclusion. The brain of the subject was so full of thoughts or ideas it couldn't take it and shut down. It was improbable, but as it turned out not impossible.

The question was: why? How did the thoughts appear, where did they come from?  _It_  hasn't had any thought for seventy years, so why now? What was so important it gave  _it_  so many things to consider? Without asking  _it_  they would know nothing and the situation probably won't change after questioning  _it_.

The task was to prepare  _it_ for battle, to serve. It would help nothing if the subject collapsed in the middle of battle because  _it_ 'd decide to think something over. No, they have to wipe out all the traces of memories that might have been in  _its_  mind, to destroy all of it and wake  _it_  up fresh and unthinking.

But they have so little time. The project they are supposed to prepare  _it_  for was starting in few hours or maybe even minutes and they have to run some tests. Did  _it_  erase  _its_  whole memory or are there still remnants of what  _it_  was thinking about? They have to see, they had to make sure  _it_  won't break down during the action. They have to do as much as they can to make sure  _it_  won't betray. Not because they believe anything, they lost all illusions long ago, but to keep their life.

The Winter soldier comes to, awaken by an unpleasant smell of something really bad. He opens his eyes and he sees the familiar faces of his handlers. He blinks a few times to adjust to the sharp light in the room. It startles him a bit to wake up and see people around himself; he has a distant feeling he usually wakes up on his own.

They step closer and start examining him and he lets them because that's what he always does. In the meantime, he tries to recall what he feels is missing. He doesn't have any idea of what he is, where he is and he realises he should know at least something. It frightens him and he panics for a while before his fear is shut down by the sedatives that run through his vessels. He feels numb – no he is numb because he doesn't understand the concept of feeling. What is feeling?

_What is being?_

His eyes fill with tears. He's so desperate and lonely and yet he can't name any of his emotions, feelings. He doesn't remember how to talk just yet and the words create themselves in his mind laboriously as if he was trying to move a limb he had had in plaster for long months. He's sure there is something more but he just can't reach his knowledge yet.

He knows the men, who lean above him, mutter, argue and do other things he doesn't understand but he doesn't feel safe. He realises they have him in their mercy so he doesn't struggle, but he seals the information in his mind for later analysis.

"Hey," one of them says and looks at the Soldier's face. The patient's eyes widen in horror as he tries to connect the sound with a meaning and fails. He opens his mouth because he assumes they expect him to say something, but no words come.

"Tell me who you are!" the keeper speaks up again and the Soldier stares at him, frozen at spot by dread. He has just figured out that the previous word didn't mean anything. Hey is just an interjection used to attract attention of the addressed person. How is he supposed to discover the meaning of a full sentence?

"Who are you?!" the handler shouts and his colleagues turn their heads in the Soldier's direction. He looks around, hopeless what to do, how to tell them that he doesn't know, doesn't remember, doesn't-

They walk over to look at him closely and he thinks hard, so hard so he can answer them. He doesn't know why he feels that way, but he's afraid of not responding. He can't say he remembers them beating him, but then again, he doesn't remember anything. He only knows his handlers. He thought he knew them, but he connected them with safety at first while now he thinks they're dangerous.

_Danger!_

He doesn't have the word, not yet, but the images and feelings are enough to make him feel exposed. He wants to flee but his brain is not even able to control itself, to say nothing about his body. So he lies still, struggles with words that won't come and stares in front of himself.

"We erased it. It's gone. They're gonna kill us," one of the keepers says with a serious, grave tone. Others looked at the Winter Soldier with badly hidden fear and loathing. They've never been fond of him, but they were paid quite a lot of money to take care of him. However now, when he was going to be the cause of their deaths, they hated him with passion.

If he wasn't that desperately blank and his mind worked properly, he would be afraid. But now he just waits, stares and gives them an empty, faraway gaze. He does not try to understand their words anymore, but as far as he can say, it's not any good. He realises he can move his fingers and he balls his hands into fists. Not that he remembers doing it, he does it based on pure instinct. He regains strength in his wrists as well, but when he tries to lift them up, something impedes this movement. He panics and his brain shuts down and no longer tries to gain back control over his now lifeless, uncontrolled body.

"We have to beat it back to it. At least make it appear it still has the last bits of brain it's had before." Another of the handlers says. The Soldier moves his eyes towards the voice, but he doesn't think he's seen the man before. Suddenly adrenaline rushes through his body and finally wakes his brain from the trance. He moves suddenly, shakes as if in seizure and he realises he feels an unpleasant pressure on various parts of his body.

"I belong to HYDRA. I do what HYDRA tells me. I don't question decisions HYDRA has made. I do not have any opinions. I am a weapon and I have no right to think. HYDRA is the only good in the world. HYDRA wants to give the world peace. I am not-"

"Enough." The unfamiliar keeper slaps him in the face and the Soldier loses his train of thoughts. "Shut up."

"It remembered," another keeper says dully with an expression of surprise.

"Maybe. We have to make sure it is this loyal." The first one says again and looks sharply at the Soldier. "Untie it and take it to Chelyakovski."

The Winter Soldier widens his eyes in fear. He knows the name; he doesn't know how or what it means, but his whole body hurts at the mere recollection. Nevertheless before he can analyse the feeling further, they release the grip of the strains on his body, lift him up and force him to stand on his feet. The sudden change of position overwhelms him, he doesn't comprehend it and he falls to the ground sorely. The sudden movement makes him sick and he would throw up if he ate something solid in the last few decades.

They don't let him adjust to the situation so they pull him up again, but now they support him so he wouldn't fall again. He put his whole weight on them and he tries to process the new sensation. He still stumbles for his feet don't really listen to him, so they more carry than lead him from the room. They appear in a fully-lit corridor. The light was uncomfortable for him and now it's much worse. He shuts him eyes as much as he can and he doesn't see where he's going. He breaths heavily and laboriously and he feels so nauseous he wishes somebody would rush in and just end it already.

His dream doesn't come true though. He's dragged through the corridor and every time he opens his eyes, it hurts him so much and he wants to lie down and die, he rather closes them. He still gags and his stomach is on fire.

Finally they release him and his knees buckle under him. He falls down, opens his eyes in the process and yelps slightly when his knees hit the ground. His malfunctioning brain tells him to place his hands under himself to lessen the impact of the fall. He does it too slowly though and he barely manages to cover his face and avoid breaking his nose. His metal arm rattles when it falls on the ground and it frightens him.  _His body shouldn't make such noise. Or should it?_  He squeals both in surprise and pain. After few moments, he's pulled up onto his knees – somebody's grabbed his hair. Sharp pain forces him to throw his head aback, bright light blinds him and he gasps for air.

"Who are you?" somebody growls. He suspects it's not the person who holds his hair, but he can't make sure.

"I am nothing, HYDRA owns me. HYDRA tells me-"

"Stop!" He's silenced again. For a while his body relaxes, but then his brain informs him this wasn't even the beginning. His head is released but his freedom only lasts for a while. Somebody grabs his hands, pulls them together behind his back and ties them roughly. His metal arm doesn't hurt, but his right and both his shoulders do. His right wrist and forearm are sore from the time when he was tied up, and it doesn't help now. Another pair of cuffs is used to tie his elbows together. He grits his teeth and tries not to cry in pain. He knows it wouldn't help him and he doesn't want to waste precious energy on screa,ing.

"Who are you?" He's asked again.

"I am a weapon of HYDRA. I serve HYDRA without hesitation. I do not question what HYDRA tells me. HYDRA aims to-"

"Enough." An authoritative voice interrupts him again and the Winter Soldier stops talking. He knows more instinctively than consciously what is going to happen next. A stout, tall man comes into his view and everything within the Soldier screams:  _Danger! Danger!_  He curls into a ball as much as the cuffs allow him to, without realising he's doing it. The man's later actions prove his suspicions right; before he comprehends the situation, he feels sharp pain in his left cheek. He feels something hot on his face and it takes him a little time to realise it's blood oozing from a wound on his cheekbone. He gasps for air in confusion.

_What do they want? Did I say something wrong?_  He doesn't remember. There is nothing else on his mind, he wants to say more; he assumes they want him to say more. They think he knows more and they want it from him.  _But I don't have it! I don't have it, please!_

He's punched two more times on the same spot as before, he whimpers a bit and he feels something wet rolling down his cheeks. _Is it blood? But it came from his eyes – he shouldn't have blood in eyes, right? So what is it?_ It burns in the wound, not too much but it is uncomfortable. He lowers his face to shield it before he's hit again and the tears mixed with blood of the wound fall to the ground with a loud splash. He stares at it, puzzled and disorientated. There is a distant feeling that tells him blood shouldn't be this light and transparent. Before he can explore that idea further, the man grabs his chin roughly, lifts it up so that the Soldier faces him and he smirks and shows several gold teeth in his mouth.

"Who are you?" another man asks. The Winter Soldier stares blankly in front of himself, straight at his handler's repulsive grin. Why do they keep asking him? He's answered already, they always stopped him before he could finish his sentence and yet they keep asking.  _What do they want?_ He yearns to answer them – he wants nothing else but to give them the answer they want so they would leave him be. He craves being left alone; he wants nothing but to be given a simple order, fulfil his mission and be put into sleep again. He's been awake for too long and it's wearing him out. As if being out of the cold, rigid and steady atmosphere of the cryo-tube unfroze some parts of his brain he doesn't really wish to work.

"I don't know," he sobs, "I thought I was HYDRA's but they don't want me because they don't come for me. But I'm not somebody else's either. I am not a person. I must belong to somebody, but HYDRA doesn't want me any longer."

"You belong to HYDRA and you owe them a lot. Why do you think you were dismissed?" he's asked. It makes him feel some emotion he cannot name because he's forced to talk to somebody whose face he doesn't know.

"I have not been given an order. Why should I be awake if I do not have an order? What is the purpose of me being awake if I don't have a mission? I don't have a mission. I should have a mission. Shouldn't I be dead if I don't have a mission? I should-" His babbling is interrupted by the man with gold teeth who punches him in the face. The Soldier reacts instinctively and tries to cover his face with his hands. The cuffs on his arms forbid him to do so, but as he moves them quickly, he loses balance and this time falls hard on his face. He cries with pain this time and he's dizzy. He feels miserable but he's not given time to calm down; his head is pulled up and he notices his hair is stick together with blood.

"How dare you question what HYDRA does? If they decide not to give you any order then you won't have it." The voice without face explains roughly. The Winter Soldier wants to nod; to obey, show he's good and he won't cause any problems, he wants to show he's a reliable weapon and that there is no need for punishing him further. But something within him fights and riots. He just does not want to let it be. That's a whole new sensation, to want – or not want – something, he doesn't remember feeling it before, and it confuses him. Not enough to stop him from talking.

"I've been created to serve on missions. If I don't have a mission, I'm awake for no reason. I should have a mission." He mumbles. He's punched before he finishes the sentence. He's kicked into his stomach and he falls over again because he doesn't have much stability with his arms behind his back. His body is on fire and even though he knows it was a really bad idea to speak, there's some feeling about it he can't name.

Soon enough he regrets saying anything and he wishes he has never been awaken from the cryo tube. All his body hurts, he's covered in blood and he loses grip of reality; the edges of his vision blacken and dissolve, he's not sure if he's upside down, lying, standing or still kneeling, he doesn't know anything but he feels all the pain. It seems to him it lasts for long hour, but the truth is that quite soon, he hears somebody say: "Enough, we'll need it."

That makes him feel a bit more hopeful – he will be given a mission, he'll complete it and they'll put him back to sleep again. He tries to look like he's ready to be sent into action but he's not able to do so. Somebody grabs him by the hair again and he meets a different face this time.

"You are nothing. You will not speak. Not at all. You're not allowed to speak from now on. Understood?" the man asks and stares at him. The Soldier wants to reply with: "Yes, sir!" but he manages to stop himself soon enough. He nods and they untie him again.

"Take it to the labs. It looks like it needs some repairing," the voice that finally has a face orders coldly and walks away. The Winter Soldier is pulled up on his feet and held firmly; he wouldn't be able to stay upright if he was on his own. He is exhausted and weak, his body trembles and he's freezing. He's dragged through the long corridor and again and he manages to stumble into another room before he passes out.


	3. Cadaverous

The Winter Soldier regains consciousness slowly and painfully. He tries to remember who he is, place himself into time and space even though he doesn’t understand either. Why should he care about time if he slips through it, travels in it without order, without a chance to spend it? What is space? He has been to many cities, countries, but he doesn’t recall a single place, he doesn’t know where he belongs. The only place he knows is the chair and the cryo-tube and that does not seem worth being aware of. And yet he always looks around himself in a futile attempt to perceive his existence. There’s something comforting in it, somewhere deep within his mind he knows he has done this many times before.

He sits up because he feels vulnerable and endangered when lying down. His body recalibrates, counting defects, sending his brain report of what is happening in it. He has long before forgotten the concept of pain – in the artificial world where he lived, things such as sensations or experiences had no meaning or value and he soon understood that the more he ignored pain, the better he will survive because nobody really cared about his pain before his mission was over. Once he does what he was told to do, he is allowed to report any discomfort he may feel and he may be relieved of it or not. Otherwise, pain is unimportant and soon he learnt that it only hinders him if he lets it get to him.

Processing the reports his body gives him, he decides the pain in his muscles comes from exertion and that on his wrists, arms, neck or legs from some minor injuries that don’t impede his movements. He stretches both his arms in front of himself and hears a satisfying, normal and comforting sound from both of them; a loud crack from the right human shoulder as his bones claim their rightful places  and a quiet whirring and humming from the metal one. He carries on with his ritual.

Since he has forgotten who he was or what was his place in the world, he’s appreciated his body the more. They could not take that away from him even if he lost a limb; it was his body and his only anchor to the ponderable world. Stretching his muscles, cracking his knuckles and other physical exercises remind him of the fact that whatever they took from him, he still breathes, lives, _exists_.  That fills him with an emotion and even though he can’t name it, he thinks he enjoys it.

As he sits cross-legged on the cot on which he woke up, he clings his head towards his right shoulder and holds it on the spot gently with his human hand while he sits at his other hand to stretch the muscles in his neck and nape. After some time he rolls his head a bit and now presses his chin down against his clavicle. He’s silent, his breathing even and calm. He feels content as his body executes the tasks his mind has given them. He’s not aware of it, but it helps him retain the last bits of reason that was left to him.

He changes his arms and repeats his actions with his left arm holding his head. Then he makes few circles with his head, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation fully. He straightens his back and neck again before he raises his arms, intertwines fingers of both his hands on the back of his head and presses his chin down on his ribcage while he keeps his shoulders where they should be, not letting them rise up. He takes a few breaths and raises his head again with his hands still on the back of his head, pressing his elbows back this time. This opens his ribcage and he allows himself the luxury of deep, loud breaths.

Then he lets go of his hair, stretching his still connected arms in front of himself once more. He doesn’t know why, but he quite enjoys this exercise so he remains still in that position for some time, clearing his mind. It’s not a difficult task because his brain is quite empty, but he enjoys it anyway. There is something wrong in the words that always calmed and soothed him but they provide him with a direction he should take in his life, give him a purpose and free him of a need to think which he gladly accepts.

_I serve HYDRA. I do not have free will. I do not need to think if not told otherwise; HYDRA tells me everything I need to know. HYDRA endeavours to establish peace upon Earth. The intentions of HYDRA are always good however wrong the means seems to be. I am a weapon of HYDRA and I should not think on my own._

The Winter Soldier remains seated as he leans on his right forearm and stretches his left arm up towards the ceiling. There is a pleasant flexion in his left side and he stays in the position for some time as well before he repeats his action on the other side. When he returns into the starting posture, he straightens his back for a while before he lays his torso down onto his legs, placing his forearms on the bedding in front of him.

Somebody opens the door abruptly, storms into the room and shuts it behind himself. The Soldier sits up, uninterested and apathetic to his whereabouts. He doesn’t fight for his life if he doesn’t have a mission to complete or is not exposed to imminent danger. A person entering a room doesn’t count as a threat so he sits on his bunk calmly, waiting to acquire further information.

“New mission!” the man shouts and throws a file of papers towards the Soldier.

The assassin nods and takes it into his hands to inspect it. As he opens it, he notices there are only a few photographs of people and some drawings of a vehicle he has never seen before. There is nothing about the people on the photos and he wants to ask why but _I do not question missions HYDRA gives me because I am a weapon and do not understand the situation_. So he takes his time looking at them in attempt to remember them.

“Your primary task will be to guard one of the helicarriers, you have a design of them enclosed in the file. We suspect one of the people you see in the photographs will attempt to damage the helicarrier, we do not know how yet. You will be aboard it and you will kill everybody who might appear on it and attempt to damage it but the priority is to keep the helicarrier in motion and untouched. Any questions?” the man gives instructions.

The Soldier looks at the picture of the unknown vehicle. The shape of it indicates it operates in air and he assumed there won’t be any people aboard it, therefore it was not designated to carry people. His body responds to the idea with a flashback from the fall. He knows he mustn’t let anything distract him so he ignores the feeling. Instead, he concentrates on the task that awaits him. Is anything unclear? _No_. Does he understand what he is supposed to do? _Yes_. He shakes his head.

“Good. Come with me, it’s time.” The man says, turns to leave and doesn’t give the Soldier a second glance.

The asset stands up with regret that he won’t get to finish his exercise but he understands missions are the most important things. Or aren’t they? He knows that was a daring thought and that it was wrong. How could he even think of that? _My missions are important for the peace of the whole world. If HYDRA gives the mission to me I do not question it_. He bites the inside of his cheek and he tastes something strange. Blood, his mind gives him the explanation. And that is good because he has to be punished for what he thought about.

The man in front of him doesn’t show any sign that he noticed the Soldier’s inner battle. He keeps walking until they reach a room full of armour, weapons and other supplies the Soldier knows so well. There is something comforting in being in the familiar room and having something to occupy his mind with. He is not given time to think as another man appears and hands him a pile of clothing. The Soldier puts on some boxers, socks, undershirt and a pair of light sweatpants without interest but rather gracefully. There is nobody to admire the beauty of his movements, but even when doing something as casual as dressing up he looks elegant like a cat.

Then he is given his usual set of plastic guards and he straps them to his legs and his right arm. He continues putting his gear up as he puts on a pair of trousers, his usual boots and finally the one-sleeve waistcoat that leaves his metal arm free. He fastens the straps on it and pulls the leashes that hold his gun safely to his back over his head and fastens the buckles on it. The last thing missing is his belt and when he’s ready, they check if he has done everything properly. He has – naturally – and he is given his usual set of weapons – a gun, some knives and a small dagger. When he puts them to their places, they lead him out of the room and through a long corridor into the secret garage of HYDRA.

The Soldier sits in a shining polished maserati without any interest. He doesn’t look out of the darkened window either and he stares onto his lap, deep in thoughts. He concentrates on the mission that awaits him, replays the drawing of the vehicle in his mind and watches at the photos safely stored in his memory. Some of them go unnoticed, such as a picture of a pretty woman with dark hair, some seem distantly familiar to the Soldier and he has to shut his mind down in attempt to stop it from distracting him as he recalls the last photo.

He didn’t allow himself to think about it back then when he was given the file because there was much more to think about but it keeps returning to him now. He doesn’t think he has ever seen the man in the picture before; he doesn’t recognise the blue eyes or the red, blue and white uniform with a star. But his body responds to it, he feels something strange, a signal that is very similar to that of feeling empty stomach and fatigue. He does not recall feeling this about a person and he is frightened; why should he want to see a person, to spend time with them. He should not want anything, but he realises they need him to say when he requires something. Yes, they can repair his body – connect it to other machines via some wires, tubes and pipes – but can they repair his...mind is the word?

He should report malfunction of his brain before the mission. Maybe it’s not very serious and they would have time to mend it. But maybe they wouldn’t, they’d not be able to prepare him on time, his mission would fail and HYDRA would not manage to complete their task of giving the world peace. He cannot report it now. He may endanger the mission and the malfunction does not have any major influence on his ability to fulfil his task.

The Soldier closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. He has never been anxious before a mission – he knows he has always been firm and reliable, he remembers he has served HYDRA loyally every time they needed him. Maybe the recollections are false, because there’s something lingering just beneath the surface, something that keeps nagging him and makes him reach for it but always escapes his attention. If he didn’t know better, he’d say it infuriates him.

Nevertheless, there’s something that seems to choke him, makes his lungs feel smaller as if they couldn’t take in more air, something that elevates his heartbeat and makes him hear the rush of his blood in his ears. He tries to breathe evenly but his hands shake. Maybe he should report the malfunction after all – it seems to be spreading. He can’t afford to be weak or vulnerable.

And yet... they said they won’t need him after this task is over. Therefore this mission is much more important than it appears and a huge part of the success of it depends on the Soldier. He must report malfunction immediately. Or must he suppress it because there’s no time? It makes him feel strange and there’s some terrible feeling in his stomach. Not the same as when he’s beaten but equally uncomfortable.

“Hey, you!” somebody shouts. Winter Soldier thinks he might be the addressed but he can’t focus – _inhale, exhale, inhale_ –

“What are you doing?” the person goes on but Winter doesn’t pay any attention to it. He doesn’t recall feeling this awful before. Hurt, beaten, broken, raped even but never this. His head felt like it was spinning and it was just so uncomfortable. He wished for some relief, anything really, he’d prefer to be beaten because at least he’d understand what is causing his distress.

“Pull back, now. It’s sick. Quickly!” the voice screams. The car comes to a halt on the side of the road. Somebody opens the door the Soldier is sitting by and drags him out of the vehicle. The handler supports him as if he is important – as if he is a _person_ – and he feels guilty because of that. They certainly made sure he was okay before they sent him on this mission. He is not malfunctioning; they never sent him on a mission if he wasn’t functional. He’s acting as if he was human, as if he could feel anything.

“Oh my god, I hope it’s not sick! We’re doomed if it doesn’t do its job.” Somebody grumbles as he paces back and forth behind Winter. Somebody else holds him as the Soldier takes in deep breaths. He feels the terrible feeling in his gut leaving him, the dizziness leaves slowly but he feels sleepy, so tired and exhausted, he just wants to lie down and sleep...

“You alright?” Some other man lowers his face to level it with the Soldier’s and the asset nods hesitatingly. The man supporting him lets go of him and touches his forehead. The Soldier is confused by the man’s actions but he knows better than to resist his handlers. It feels different than the other touches he is used to receive – usually they hurt, either physically or mentally. Sometimes both. As if his body’s memories kicked in – the long gone memories of something that could have never happened because it seems as if he was a man in them – and he remembers a nice feeling when somebody was curled in his arms. A thin, pale human form hidden in his embrace as if he could protect, like, love somebody. It appears to be very surreal – the Soldier is not capable of that. Besides, who would want comfort from him? He is a tool, a thing, and who asks a lifeless object for comfort?

“He doesn’t have a fever,” the man draws his hand back and the moment of sentiment is gone. The Soldier blinks a few times, his eyelashes fluttering a bit too slowly, and he stares at his keepers blankly. Who was the man talking about? The Soldier was not he, indicating a person. So who were they talking about?

“What a shame we don’t have a time to check that out in the other parts of its body,” somebody else chuckles and even though the Soldier doesn’t understand the words, he’s heard the voice before and it does not evoke nice memories within him. He steps away from the source of the voice instinctively and bows his head in attempt to divert whoever this voice belongs to from doing those awful things.

“You’re gross,” the man who attended to the Soldier previously responds, “he remembers, you know? I can see it in his eyes; he remembers what you did to him. You should be more careful, if somebody found out...”

“Eyes? Him? Well that’s really romantic! Are you defending it or something?” the other man laughs terribly in the distance.

“Come into the car,” the “nice handler”, as the Soldier calls him, mutters and he shoves the asset forward. Winter walks obediently and tries to erase the last few minutes from his memory.

“Oh, you bastard. You want it for yourself, don’t you? You think it’ll remember you were nice to it and it will give itself to you willingly.” Unfortunately the rapist doesn’t wish to drop the subject. The Soldier is seated on the back seat and he stares out of the window as the door is closed behind him, trying not to hear what the men talk about. The person who was attentive to him sits behind the steering wheel while his companion storms into the passenger’s seat and talks again.

“Whatever you want, but I can tell you, there’s nothing better than to fuck something vulnerable, feel it struggle and watch it give up slowly. It’s twice as good as-“ his eyes glisten, the Soldier can see it in the rear view mirror and it makes him feel terrible again. Pictures are flashing in front of his eyes, his body hurts at the recollection and his eyes fill with the salty liquid he has seen in his victims.

“Could you shut up?! Look at him, you’re frightening him. Do you wish to be responsible for the failure of his mission if he has a breakdown?” the driver snaps and glares at his companion curtly.

“Whatever you say.” The latter shrugs but there’s a smug grin upon its face. “You know, the bosses said it won’t be needed anymore. I guess I’ll ask them to give it to me, I’d use some reward for my hard work.”

“Are you nuts? The only thing you deserve is a psychiatric care. Just... don’t talk about it, alright?” The driver waits to receive an answer but the car is silent. After a short ride they arrive to a place the Soldier’s never been to.

He gets out of the car and is lead to a huge hall with so much various machines it gives him a headache. Is it a scrap yard? Will they leave him there and never retrieve him? Or are the handlers going to do what they were talking about after all? But why would they give him the mission file and make him put on his gear? And then he sees it, the vehicles whose drawings he was given previously. It seems like they’re being prepared for taking off.

“So this is the one,” he is lead towards of the helicarriers. It seems to him they all look alike but maybe he’s wrong. It doesn’t matter anyway – he doesn’t understand why he distracts himself with something this stupid. _I do not think on my own_. They show him a way in and close the door behind him. He recalls the drawings he saw and remembers there was something like a core, a control centre and he assumed that was the most important part of the vessel. He runs through the vehicle and finds what he was searching for. Then, everything is just a routine and the Soldier calms down eventually. There’s too much to be thought about for it to leave space for redundant memories. And yet the Soldier feels like this day was going to be very important.

He secures the surroundings, finds every possible way in or out, decides where it would be the easiest to shoot and finally finds an observation on the upper deck of the helicarrier. As he sits down on it and watches preparations for taking off, he can’t find anything to distract himself with.

What is so special about the man on the photo that it keeps resurfacing in his mind even if he shoves it back every time? As the Soldier watches the picture in his mind, sees the slight smile on rosy lips, the gleaming midday-sky blue eyes or the slight wrinkle between the man’s eyebrows, it doesn’t let him rest. Is it because the man is so handsome? The Soldier thinks the man is very handsome, beautiful even, but that can’t be the problem. He remembers many of his targets were good-looking; no that he has their pictures in his mind, HYDRA wiped it out, but their physical appearance, however pleasing, never interfered with his ability to kill them. Handsome men, pretty women; parents of children that would never have the same life they could have without Winter’s intervention. Something about the orphaned children makes him feel... sad? Sorry? He doesn’t know, but suddenly he is sure he doesn’t want any child to lose a parent, as if he knew what it feels like.

Does the man on the photo have children? Maybe a loving wife – for some reason, the Soldier sees her as a very pretty lady with dark red lips, huge brown eyes and in a uniform – and some equally perfect offspring. No, that’s not it. The Soldier does not think he’s right in this assumption.

So what is it? Why does he feel repulsed when he thinks about killing that man? What makes him hesitate, what makes his chest tighten at the idea? Why are his eyes clouded when he imagines the beautiful face pierced with a hole for a bullet in the forehead? The Soldier stands up and begins marching back and forth, shaking his head in attempt to clear his mind. But the thoughts are getting worse.

_Who are you?_ He asks the stranger in his mind, trying to create some connection between them. _What have you done to affect me this way? I don’t know you, I don’t want to know you, I don’t want to want anything._

The ceiling above his head opens suddenly and the vehicles rise into the air slowly. He stands still, staring in front of himself and wishes with all his mind to never see the man who causes such a mess within his mind.

 


	4. Dangling

As far as the Soldier can say, the world is just as it always was. He wasn't asked to evaluate the situation or report so he lets the idea fly. He must concentrate on his task and nothing can disturb him. The helicarriers are floating without any obvious activity while down on the Earth everything is just fine.

Winter Soldier marches to and fro over the deck of the vehicle; keeping an eye on the central panel as well as the edges of the construction should somebody attempt to get on board from the lower parts of the helicarrier. The Soldier is not entirely sure how that would be possible since he is several thousand feet above the ground, but he wasn't taught to rely on logic, he was told to be thorough.

Few minutes pass and all the helicarriers are still intact. The Soldier feels nervous because that might mean few things and most of them wouldn't have a pleasing outcome for him. The first idea that strikes his mind is that HYDRA left him to die because he was no longer of use – they did say something about this being his last mission. Maybe it was false and this was the mission  _after_  the ultimate task. Then he realised there were easier ways to get rid of him than to arrange a military operation. Maybe the enemy has already incapacitated the helicarrier and the Soldier hasn't noticed it. He wasn't told what exactly the enemy might want to do to the vehicle, so maybe it would appear to be functioning properly while it would be powerless. Or maybe HYDRA placed him onto the wrong hovercraft; what if their intelligence was wrong. The Soldier does not recall any failure of HYDRA's information service but there's a first time to everything, as some of his handlers assured him so many years ago.

He decides it is pointless to dwell on such thoughts so he increases his pace and stretches his muscles. The sun is blinding him when he faces it so he decides to remain standing looking in that direction. He suspects the enemy would attempt to gain as much advantage over him as possible to ensure success; he would have approached himself from the side where the sun is. He glances around occasionally and makes a few steps to make sure he is still alone, but mostly he stares in the south-western direction.

While his eyes are alert but without any stimulus to react to, he concentrates on what he hears. Sounds are important, sometimes they tell you the whole story before it even takes place. He immediately rules out the usual noises – wind whistling in his ears, his dark hair hitting his face and shoulders or the steady hum of the engine below his feet, and apart from that he hears nothing else. He focuses on what he sees, checks the deck for any signs of intruders and listens again. He repeats the procedure several times when he hears a barely audible clicking and whizzing sound that is closely followed by some shouting and rumble of a small machine. He kneels and looks beneath the vehicle but he can't see anything.

The Soldier rises up to his feet again, suddenly alert by rush of adrenaline. He decides not to use his gun because loading it always makes noise and he doesn't want to lose the moment of surprise. Instead he creeps towards the other side of the vessel and searches for other unusual noises. Soon, he is rewarded with a loud thud, sound of chattering metal and conversation. He can't make out the first line, but he hears the reply.

"I had a big breakfast."

The voice is familiar and Winter's mind immediately connects it with the face of the mysterious blond man. He stops dead in his track for a few seconds which gives the couple of marauders opportunity to make few more steps.

The Soldier catches a glimpse of blue behind a pile of something and realises he has only a few seconds to react. In a blink of an eye, there's a man walking from behind the material but the Soldier is ready. He kicks forward and sends the man flying in the direction of the kick, towards the edge of the helicarrier. The man's companion, considerably more slender but muscular as well, rushes to aid him. The Soldier notices a pair of metal wings attached to the man's back. He does not recall any person having such anatomic anomaly, but he decides to use it as an advantage.

Reaching his left arm forward, he grabs one of the wings and pulls. It is almost too easy to throw the man behind himself to smash him against the ground. In the moment when he lets go of the wing though, the device kicks in and holds the man in the air. That enables the winged man to grab a gun into each of his hands and fire in the Soldier's direction.

Winter Soldier stops thinking and relies on his instincts and training completely when he performs a few somersaults to get into safety. He hides behind another cubicle and waits for the shooting to stop. The man will either try to leave using his wings, help his companion or disable the helicarrier – that was the mission, right? And now when the soldier thinks about it, he recognizes the man from the photographs he was given earlier. A target.

The Soldier is supporting his elbow on his knee as he shoots a thin rope with a spike on the other side in the winged man's direction. He is successful and soon enough the man is trapped as a wild animal. The Soldier does not recognise the situation as an act of hunt though, he's never seen a real hunt before.

As the Soldier yanks his arm, the man slams into the deck. The impact deprives the man of the right wing but he rises to his feet as fast as he can. Winter does not wait for anything and scoots towards the man before he can regain balance. Simple rules of physics work as the Soldier's boot hits the winged man's chest and pushes him off the vehicle. The Soldier stares down to see the man battle against wind and gravity, lose the remaining wing and open a parachute at last. He glances down for the last time; no time for distraction. The man is no longer a threat and therefore does not require any attention from the Soldier, whereas the other assailant walked free.

There is only one place where somebody who would wish to subvert the helicarrier would head. The whole vehicle was a huge mass of metal, engine and weapons and it was sure as hell protected against manual corruption. It had to be attacked from the inside and there is one place where this could be done. The Soldier deduces all this while he runs towards the bridge.

And he is not mistaken. He hears feet hitting the floors of the helicarrier as somebody runs through the corridors. The Soldier stands in front of the core of the vessel and waits for his opponent to turn up. He is made aware of his arrival when the bridge he stands on creaks and swings a little.

"People are gonna die, Buck," the blond man says. As if it matters to the Winter Soldier or to anybody else. Yes, people are going to die but they are going to die for the greater good. A few millions die to let billions live; a fair [TRADE](https://www.fanfiction.net/story/story_preview.php?storyid=10346068&chapter=4/#) as his handlers explained it to him. He was told that people would not get it, would not understand. To be honest, the Soldier doesn't understand it either, but he knows better than to object. But somewhere inside, there's something that questions what his handlers told him, something that wishes to rebel and it was only woken up by this man calling him a name that does not belong to him. Nothing belongs to Winter Soldier because he is a property himself.

"I can't let that happen," the man keeps on talking as if he thinks his words could break Winter's obedience. As if kind words could pierce through decades of abuse, torture, pain and fear. When the Soldier's inspects his adversary's face, he sees genuine, pure pain and hesitation in his eyes. It confuses the Soldier but not enough to make him doubt his mission and defy his orders. And the order is to not get distracted. But still... the man acts as if he believes Winter Soldier would be compassionate and walk away. Why is he doing it?

"Please, don't make me do this," he pleads and looks into the Soldier's eyes with despair. Winter doesn't know what to think of it. Why should he leave the man alone? Why does he assume the Soldier would just walk away? He does not beg like Winter's previous targets did;  _Please, don't kill me. Please, I have a family. Please, I'll take everything back Please, I'll give you everything you want_. He is used to that and even though he thinks it would sound strange coming from this man's lips, it would be normal and understandable. But this man asks him to stay away so that he would not have to harm the Soldier. This man believes he can beat the asset, the fist of HYDRA, the best weapon ever created but does not wish for it to perish.

The Soldier's answer is silence. He narrows his eyes and shifts a little, preparing for fight that is inevitable. The desperation diminishes from the other man's eyes and is replaced by determination. Winter Soldier mimics the expression and clenches his fists just a little. In a single second there's understanding between the two before Captain America throws his shield in Winter Soldier's direction.

From now on, it's just instincts. The Soldier covers himself, returns the latter's blows and occasionally gets to fire a gun but misses every time. He makes a mistake and he pays for it – the shield hits him hard in the side and he crashes onto the floor. For a while he lies curled into a ball and deals with his pain before he casts it away and stands up while he gets hold of a knife and attacks his opponent. They disappear into a mess of limbs, weapons, pants, groans and rasp of metal scraping metal. Adrenaline is rushing through Winter's veins so fast he doesn't feel pain when their bodies collide; he doesn't stumble when he is interrupted in his dance. And among the instincts and orders, there is enjoyment, zeal and delight. His range of emotions is limited but if he could, he would say he is happy to meet an old friend. But he doesn't have old friends. Just orders.

Suddenly his adversary gains a momentary advantage over him and pushes him to the ground. In the few seconds it takes the Soldier to get up he taps on a small panel by the core of the helicarrier. Winter attacks him from behind, trying to get between the core and the other man but failing. Instead he is sent away again and the intruder manages to remove one of the small tablets that rest in the core.

Winter Soldier attacks again, frightened that he might actually fail. He has never met a man as strong as he is, somebody who would be able to resist his attack. He punches the man, pushes him against a railing that lines the bridge and with determination, he throws himself down, taking the other man with him. They hit the construction below and the tablet that was originally in the other man's hand slips away while the shield falls down. The Soldier stands up to meet his opponent again. A well-aimed blow flings the blond man into the air but it only serves him as he falls right beside the tablet. The Soldier throws himself on the man and they fight again, balancing on the edge of the construction.

This time, the Soldier is beaten. The tablet falls down and it lands on the big panels of glass that constitute the bottom of the helicarrier, followed closely by the Soldier who is thrown into the air as if he weighs nothing. He braces himself for the impact, expecting it to break the glass and send him straight to his death, regardless if he survives the fall or not because even if he does, HYDRA will kill him all the same. The glass must be stronger than it looks though because it doesn't shatter beneath him. He loses his breath for a while. When he regains it, he sees the man running, probably to retrieve the lost object. The Soldier intends to reach for his gun and shoot but something holds him back. He stares at his hands in bewilderment; he has never hesitated, never refused to pull the trigger. And yet everything in his mind is against firing a gun because he could not miss at this distance. As he fights an inner battle, he notices Captain America's shield lying beside him. He picks it up and throws it at its owner, hitting him straight in the back.

Force of the impact makes the man fall onto the glass. The Soldier catches up on the time he has lost, sends back his doubts and pulls a gun out of its case. Now, when his target is not unprotected and covers his face with the shield, Winter has no problems with aiming at him. He fires a few bullets before he'd have to load again which is exactly the time his adversary needs to send the shield at the Soldier. It hits Winter in the shoulder but doesn't impede him; soon enough he is fighting the other man again.

They struggle with a knife in the Soldier's hand until the other man smashes his forehead against Winter's for a couple of times. It makes the Soldier dizzy; his head is swimming, there's an unpleasant feeling in his stomach and he feels funny, but he ignores it and shoves the man away. The energy he has to give out to do that makes him trip and he falls down. Lying on the glass, he reaches for the tablet and gets hold of it only moments before the blond grabs him and raises him into the air. For a while, he is just hanging there, struggling against his oppressor and kicking around. Then his vision gets blurry and there are stars in front of his eyes. He barely notices it when he is slammed against the glass; he's short of breath long before it could be forced out of his lungs.

Then he gasps for air and all the pain comes back. He is forced on his knees, his head pushed aside and his right arm pulled away in uncomfortable angle.

"Drop it. Drop it!" the other man shouts and his voice is devoid of compassion or regret. This is a voice of a killer, murderer, soldier. Winter wonders how he could ever consider the man to feel sorry to kill him. It was just a trick. Nothing but a trick and he almost swallowed the bait.

The realisation pumps anger into him and allows him to fight back. He only manages to perform one feeble blow before the grip on his shoulder and face strengthens to the point when he hears an awful sound and feels a sharp, blinding agony in his arm and chest. He shouts as a wounded wild animal, his whole body burns but he doesn't let go of the tablet.

Then the man flips them over and embraces his arm around the Soldier's neck. The confusing sensation takes over again but this time, the blond doesn't intend to let go. The Soldier fights for air that doesn't come, kicks around and never loosens his grip on the tablet.

Being throttled is a strange sensation. At first, the Soldier is frightened because he's divested of his free will, he can't move, he can't breathe and soon enough he can't even think. He struggles for air but he only wastes valuable oxygen in the process. Then, when the air comes out of his lungs, he calms down, relaxes, gives up. He feels light as a feather and carefree and everything is simple. He stops fighting because it's pointless and soon enough he blacks out into blissful unconsciousness.

He is not given a long time to rest; he regains consciousness soon and it takes him a little while to notice that his opponent has fled and tries to reach the control centre again. The Soldier snatches his gun quickly, aims and fires.

He doesn't miss but it's not a clear shot either. Normally, he would have shot the man dead, it would be so easy to run a bullet through his heart or at least his lung but for some reason he aimed for the man's legs so that he would incapacitate him but not kill him. Why? The man has shown no mercy, no compassion with the Soldier and yet Winter hesitated to shoot him.

But the man is not easy to stop either; the Soldier begins to understand that as he watches the latter stand up and trudge farther on his way. Winter Soldier does not hesitate. Winter Soldier is the fist of HYDRA. And he will fire the gun. So he does and barely hits the target. The pain in his right shoulder is overwhelming and blinding but he keeps going, keeps aiming, keeps trying because that's the only thing left to him. And he shoots once again and this time he's sure he's done the job. He drops to his knees with relief when he sees the man fall to the floor above the Soldier's head, when he sees him gripping tight at his abdomen, watches the pained expression upon the man's face. He made it. He can hear it from the urgency in the voice that keeps giving orders and instructions to the other man. It's going to be over soon and then, the Soldier will finally be allowed to rest, to fall asleep and never wake up again. He will never be forced to fall asleep frozen; he won't live in a constant confusion and disorientation, asking himself who he is and where he belongs. There will be no more shooting, no more punishment, no more training, no more missions. Just peace, sleep and nothingness. The Soldier thinks that if he could wish for something, this would be it.

Consumed by his torment and wishful thinking, Winter does not see Captain America accomplish his task. He does not hear the argument between Steven Rogers and Maria Hill. The first thing he knows is that the world crumbles and falls into pieces without any obvious reason. He opens his eyes and holds them open with effort. He tries to stand up and flee, but what's the point? There's nowhere to go, nobody to shoot, nothing to defuse. As the Soldier sees it, the other helicarriers are shooting at the one carrying him while it returns the firing. It does not make any sense but it seems to the Soldier that they are trying to exterminate either him or the other man. Or maybe both, it would be convenient to do it while they're both on board and proclaim it an accident. He does not see any logic in such behaviour, but Winter Soldier knows better than to ask or question.

When a girder tumbles on top of him, crushing his chest and forcing the air out of his lungs again, he suddenly changes his opinion on dying. It's not what he wants and he begins to struggle against the cold, huge piece of metal, completely oblivious to the futility of his actions. He panics, wriggles, pleads, cries and nothing comes to help him.  _And he's suffocating and it hurts and he cries and his tears are salty, so salty, why is he tasting salty? He wants it to stop, he wants to go home, what is home, where is home? What is want? And he can't move and he can't even scream and he can't do anything but weep and hope to die soon. If he only knew what hope is, what is hope?_

In the midst of his hysterical fit he notices movement by his side. With all his might and will he follows it with his eyes but it takes him some time to see what he's looking at. There's the man who tried to strangle him, the one who said he didn't wish to do this, the man whom the Soldier tried to kill, the man who caused the failure of the most important mission ever, the man who caused it all, the man whose fault it is that Winter is now stuck below the girder. The man who used to be helpless and scrawny, the man who used to run to him for comfort, the man who saved him, the man who swore –

The man who is obviously in pain and yet he falls to his knees a few feet from the Soldier, drops his shield aside and puts his arms under the girder that holds Winter pinned down. His face is distorted with effort, exhaustion and pain and there is a fleeting picture in the Soldier's mind, showing this face in times of peace – happy, content and smiling. It frightens Winter; is the other man playing with his mind? He would not be too surprised; he had never seen anybody who would be able to beat him in a physical fight so why wouldn't this man be a wizard able to toy with his thoughts?

Winter decides he doesn't trust the man. He's dangerous, he's a threat and he failed the mission and he is a mission and  _I must serve HYDRA_. But he's not going to refuse help when it comes, whatever it might bring him afterwards. So he squirms with the last bits of strength he has and crawls from beneath the girder. He is leaning on his left forearm and shins, breathing heavily while he holds his dislocated limb close to his chest. He glances at his rescuer and for a while he thinks he sees the same regret he did before.

"You know me," the other man says resolutely and stares into the Soldier's eyes. Winter considers it, actually gives it a thought. What if the images in his mind weren't delusions, what if he actually knows the man? The blue eyes look familiar, he knows the smile, he knows the look, he knows –  _he is the mission. I must eliminate every target HYDRA issues me. I must not question the decisions of HYDRA. I must not hesitate. He is the mission. I must disable the mission._

"No I don't!" the Soldier shouts in response and throws his whole body, his whole being, at the man who may have known him but is a mere mission from now on. He throws a punch and sends the man down. It only lasts for a while and it leaves him very tired. They are both panting in pain as they look at each other again. The Soldier's vision is clouded by tears and strands of hair blocking his view but he can never escape the glaze of the other man's eyes that resemble bluestones. As if the Soldier knows bluestones, as if he cares about them, as if he's ever seen them-

"Bucky," the man insists, almost tenderly. Like a loving mother would talk to her ignorant child, "you've known me your whole life."

That is obviously a lie. Because Winter Soldier is just a tool, object, item and things don't have life, they only have the time when they are functional and the time when they cease to exist because nobody needs them anymore because they're broken, useless and beyond repair. And the Soldier is sure that even if his time of functioning could be described as life, this man has not been a part of it. Winter has never seen him, never talked to him. How could he know somebody he's never met?

Winter feels like his head is going to explode. Why does this man keep playing these tricks on him? He's won right? He made Winter fail the mission, he averted HYDRA taking over the world which would bring peace to everyone. What else does he want? Is that some kind of a test? Then the Soldier is determined to do well. Is he trying to break Winter? Then he won't show any weakness. Or is it something else? What else might a man want from the Soldier? The only thing he was good for was to serve and now he has made the worst mistake ever. He has failed so bad nothing in the whole universe could repair it. Isn't he useless enough? There's only one thing he knows for sure and that's that he's completely and absolutely lost. Nobody would want him and he just broke all the orders because he failed. The only thing he knew was attack. So he attacks because he can't think of anything else he could do.

He punches the other man with a force of the desperate, like a drowning who's catching the last straw of grass before he breathes in water for the last time. The blow is strong and he stumbles and falls onto the girder. All the grace has disappeared from his movements and now he's just lumpish and exhausted. They both are. But neither of them can stay down if the other rises.

"Your name is James," the stranger, the intruder, the man who's trying to shatter him into pieces has difficulties with saying what he wants to say, "Buchanan," and he's really good at that struggle. Maybe the Soldier should believe him? "Barnes."

That does trigger something. There is something within his mind, something buried so deep he would never try to reach for it. But it is there, a glimmer of a recollection, a spark of a memory. And it's false. The man is so desperate he is playing tricks on Winter again. Why? What is so special about the useless, malfunctioning weapon that belongs to the junkyard that somebody wastes energy to lull him into a false feeling that he is a person?

"Shut up!" the Soldier shouts and smacks the man again. They both fall and the Soldier notices that the latter has taken of his mask. There's blond hair beneath it and it irks Winter a little that it's not neatly combed. That thought confuses the Soldier; since when does he care about his enemies' haircuts?

"I'm not gonna fight you," the man says flatly. Seconds later, he loosens his grip on the shield in his hand – his only weapon, as the Soldier realises – and lets it fall through the broken panel of glass. Winter thinks it's crazy. You don't just let go of your only weapon, that's what he was told about combat. The man is either nuts or has a back-up plan. The only possibility the Soldier does not acknowledge is the fact that the man might be telling the truth.

"You're my friend." The man says with a sad expression on his face. As if he was betting all his [MONEY](https://www.fanfiction.net/story/story_preview.php?storyid=10346068&chapter=4/#) on a horse with a limp. They stare at each other and there might be something truthful about the things the man said, and that scares the Soldier. He hasn't had life, he hasn't had any friends. He doesn't even have a name. It is not possible, no matter how alluring it sounds.

"You're my mission!" he growls in response and assaults the man, the liar who pretends to be a prophet, who pretends to know everything. He throws one punch after another, back and forth and he feels bitter tears in his eyes because it's all so painful. "You're!" Strike. "My!" Strike. "Mission!"

"Then finish it," the blond says weakly and looks at him, reconciled. The Soldier wants to. He thinks he actually feels wish to finish the mission, to kill this man, beat him into a pulp and throw him out of the helicarrier. But for some reason, he holds his fist up above the other man's face and waits for some sign of approval. "'Cause I'm with you till the end of the line."

" _I can get by on my own."_

" _I know. The thing is... that you don't have to. Because I'm with you until the end of the line, pal."_

_The end of the line._

_Is this the end?_

_What is end?_

The Soldier lets go of the man and reaches up to get hold of something to help him stand up when the construction breaks and a part of the helicarrier collapses towards the ground. The Soldier stares down at the limp body that is taken away by wind and gravity; he stares at the huge white star on the blue undercoat and for some reason, he glimpses at his left shoulder. He had known the red star was there, it's been there longer than he can remember, but only now he understands what it means. That they belong together. Whatever a weapon can be to a person, he belongs to the man who is falling down towards his death.

And the Soldier can't let that happen.

_Because I'm with you until the end of the line, pal._


	5. Elated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me literally eternity to come up with the first moments after Bucky drops Steve on the shore because now I had to think carefully where I wanted to go with this story. I hope you like what I came up with for this chapter. Opinions would be welcome.  
> Also, there's a Russian word in this chapter. It's not entirely important and you'd probably guess what it means, but just to give you peace and not force you to scroll down the chapter, I'll tell you now. The word is Прекрати and it means stop.

The Winter Soldier does not think. His brain is clouded by pain, his judgement ill and his body malfunctioning. But his action feels like the most natural thing he’s ever done. Without looking, he leaps into the void underneath him. For a few moments, he’s falling and it feels great. For some reason, he feels free. 

Fortunately, he’s not completely devoid of survival instinct. Just before he hits the surface of a dirty river, he places his feet under him to lessen the impact the fall would have on his body. He pierces the river’s surface with loud splash. He forgets to take a breath before he disappears under the water and he panics as it gets into his mouth. He resurfaces quickly again and coughs, gasping for air. He almost climbs out of the water before he remembers he has a purpose, the most important mission ever assigned to him. It’s not a mission to kill or maim, it’s to save and saving lives feels much better than ending them.

The Winter Soldier takes a big breath and plunges into the water again. His right shoulder protests as he tries to move it but he doesn’t stop. His head spins and his lungs are on fire but he doesn’t stop. 

_You’re my mission._

Yes, he is. The Soldier still doesn’t remember the man, there is just a distant feeling, a promise of something more. The Soldier dares to hope that maybe, just maybe, he will be able to learn more about world. But in that moment, he has to concentrate on his task. 

Looking around furiously, he doesn’t see anything. The world is green and gray as if it was deprived of any other colours. He doesn’t care. He knows there are more – red, white, blue – to be found but he has to be quick. The world may have lost its colours, but he will get hold of those three. He has to take another breath before diving into the depth again. Just as he thinks he won’t be able to go on any further, he catches a glimpse. With incredible strength that rushes through his body in one last chance to be useful before dying out, he kicks his legs and sees that indeed, it is the colour he was searching for. His metal arm reaches forward and gets hold of it. 

Nobody was there to see them emerge from the water despite it being a crucial moment in history. Nobody knew what pulled beloved Captain America out of the river. And maybe it was better that way because it would be just their moment forever.

The Winter Soldier drags the motionless form of Captain America out of the flow. He stands by his side for a while and stares at the man who claimed to have been his friend. The Soldier doesn’t know or remember. He wishes to stay by the man’s side but he doesn’t see the reason. There are colours in the world again and he doesn’t feel it necessary to dwell on the spot. He can’t determine the emotion he feels after Captain America moves a little and takes a shallow breath. It is the same feeling he had after a mission’s gone well and he was rewarded, he just cannot name it. 

The Soldier looks around himself. He sees fire, smoke, huge pieces of metal scattered around, debris. He mustn’t stay there and watch over the lifeless man even if he seems to crave it. He feels like he might faint any given minute and he doesn’t wish to be found close to the unconscious Captain America. Nobody would believe he saved the hero anyway – he is certainly not going to be there to find out. 

With one last glance at the familiar face, he bows his head and turns around. He holds his right arm curled in the elbow and keeps it close to his chest. It feels least painful that way even if it isn’t truly an improvement. He walks off into the shrubbery on the riverbank and soon finds himself deep in the vegetation. He makes his way through it even as his breathing gets shallow and uneven. He stares down at his feet and he wanders around. He’s trembling; the tremor is palpable in his injured shoulder. He thinks he’s picturing it but it feels like his bones, tendons and muscles are fighting to get to their rightful positions. 

_“Bucky, darling, we will have to get it back to its place, okay?” Nice lady tells him. His vision is blurred and there’s a lot of pain but he can distinguish a hand holding his own. It feels reassuring._

_“Will it hurt?” he whimpers. He knows he’s childish but he can’t help it._

_“A little. But it will be much better then.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“On three. One, two, three.“_

_He expects pain but it only gets better._

_“Sh, it’s over, Bucky. It’s okay.”_

_“You tricked me,” he whines but smiles anyway as two pairs of pure blue eyes look at him with pride. “You said it would hurt.”_

_“You wouldn’t believe me if I said no.”_

The Winter Soldier leans against a nearby tree. He doesn’t know the source of this recollection, he only realises its purpose. His body would deal with his injuries, but it could not make his shoulder joint to start working properly when in wrong position. He will have to help it and he’ll have to do it alone if he ever wants to use his arm again. He’s not entirely sure what he might do with it - or any other part of his body - but he decides it could be left for another time. 

It won’t be easy for him to get the bones back into their respectful position without someone else’s help. He thinks it over for some time before he sits down with his back against the tree. 

_It won’t work, you’ll hurt yourself. You must not hurt yourself, do not knowingly compromise yourself. A useless asset is a dead asset. In case of a serious, crippling injury, report to HYDRA immediately. Do not attempt to treat injuries yourself. You’ll fuck it up and they’d punish you._

The Soldier knows nothing about fixing himself after getting beaten up. He only knows that if he doesn’t do something, he’d go crazy and he can’t really ask anyone for help. He even considers turning to some HYDRA officer but he has to decide against it. As he understood it, this mission was way more important than any other in the past and since he didn’t do well, he has to presume going back and showing himself wouldn’t be the wisest thing to do. No, he is all alone. He should get used to that because that’s how it’s going to be. He’s a misfit, a freak and now those who put up with him wouldn’t want him anymore. 

_Maybe he would… He said he was with me. He said he was a friend._

Winter shuts his eyes closed, forcefully, painfully until his eyes feel squished and painful. He can’t let thoughts like this take over his mind. He has to learn to be on his own; the sooner he accepts that, the better. He is all alone now, he is supposed to be a person, a human or at least act like one. And real humans don’t cling onto others so much, right? Right? 

He hears some noise in the direction of the river. There are voices, stamping feet, branches and bushes being thrown out of the way. So loud, so noisy. It’d would be so easy to just… end them. They peaked Winter’s attention and he looks out and counts the distance in his head. He’s almost on his feet when he realises something. 

_They’re here for him. They’ll take him away, care for him, provide him with whatever he needs. He will be taken care of and they’ll clean his mind up and he wouldn’t have to worry about the broken weapon that pulled him out of the river. Everything will be alright. I must let them take care of him._

The Winter Soldier relaxes again and falls heavily against the trunk. He closes his eyes - _it would be so easy to just let go, wouldn’t it - the asset must maintain the highest level of functionality possible - so nice to just close eyes and stop perceiving, stop calculating, stop counting, stop shooting - the asset will under no circumstances stop to rest without being told to do so_ \- and he grasps his right elbow with his cold, lifeless fingers. They’re sticky and dirty with blood - with _his_ precious blood - and Winter can’t but grin. If only HYDRA knew how close he got…

Maybe he’s going to lose his second arm as well. Maybe his arm is beyond saving. Maybe there’s no veins and arteries to nourish it, maybe he’ll lose it just like he lost the left one, how he lost memory, how he lost humanity, himself, love, _him_. It’s all about him. Maybe all this mission was just to see what this man could do to the unbreakable, unbeatable fist of HYDRA. Maybe there was no purpose. Maybe all he had to do was save one man. Or maybe two. Should he save himself too?

He changes his mind and moves his fingers up his arm to find the source of his problem. His metal fingers are not as perceptive as he’d need them to be, his body too alien to him. Why did he never pay attention when they took care of his injuries? It was never necessary. He never thought he would leave HYDRA, he never imagined he could live without HYDRA. Or did he and was he robbed of the memory of it just like they took all memories away? What if he met _him_ already, what if they’d truly been friends and HYDRA didn’t want them to be friends because god, even half dead under a girder, he felt alive when he was with _him_.

 Is this bone supposed to be here? Does it stand out naturally or is it the injury? Where’s the right place - left, right, back forth? Is this what a touch feels to other people? Is this what a caress is? 

The Soldier is slowly going into a shock - his thoughts whirl and explode all around, he is shaking heavily, his heart’s beating as if this was its last minute and it had to give a lifetime worth of beats, and he is cold _so cold - no, no, no. He’s just warmed up, he doesn’t want to go back, he can’t go back, not now, no, please, please, please, no_.

He tries to take a deep breath but it isn’t possible. His lungs are too full and too empty at the same time. _This is ridiculous_ \- he grasps his upper arm and moves it gently but firmly - down, to the left and up.

The Winter Soldier closes his eyes tiredly, sighs deeply, finally able to do so, and leans his head against the tree. He’s literally too exhausted to even be tired and he falls asleep immediately. He can’t care about caution, protection, finding a more suitable place to spend the night in. He still holds his right elbow with his left hand and there’s a lot of blood wandering aimlessly around his shoulder.

—

_“‘Cause I’m with you ’til the end of the line.”_

_There’s a lot of noise, a lot of pain, a lot of confusion and very little hope. The whole situation is overwhelming, he can’t take it, there’s no way he could take it. He has to admit it, there’s no way he’s getting out of here. He will die here, tied to a cot, frightened, confused, alone. That’s not a good way to go, not a noble way. He died alone. When he couldn’t make it through another night. He died silent. He made no difference to the world. Not the best way to die, is it? I’m sorry, Steve._

_Steve? Steve, keep me warm, keep me alive. I am here, Steve, don’t leave. I am here, please save me. But it’s so cold and everything is too bright and too loud. I can’t see anything and my eyes hurt. My whole body hurts, it’s falling apart, bit by bit, and everything is freezing and I’m shaking and-_

Winter Soldier gasps for air abruptly as he wakes up. He raises his head and looks around, searching for any danger or intruder. When he spots a bird sitting on a branch above him, he doesn’t consciously come to the conclusion this was what woke him up but he calms down either way. He is calm for only a moment however, because he notices several malfunctions of his body at once. As he lies on the ground where he must have fallen after losing control over his body, he realizes that the cold he experienced in his confusing dream is very real. He can’t determine the source of such discomfort. From his experience, cold was always short and followed by numbness. This cold is omnipresent and seems to be everlasting if not getting worse.  

There is some voice in Winter’s head whispering something. It’s very indistinct, he can’t make out the words. He has a distant feeling that he should be moving but he can’t force himself to make a single muscle work. He’s shivering so much he has to clutch his jaws together not to hurt his teeth. There is the sensation of having his lungs too empty and too full at the same time again, he’s breathing heavily and fast as if he just ran a marathon. He closes his eyes and holds them shut, hoping his problems would disappear just like that. 

They don’t however. He tries to roll on his other side because the one he was lying on seemed a little less frozen but he soon learns that wasn’t the smartest move. He lost all the remnants of his body warmth stored beneath them and he certainly didn’t get any new. If anything, his left side which didn’t feel like falling off until now becomes just as numb as the rest of his body. The Soldier feels like crying. His chest tightens and causes even more pain than he already suffers from. Everything is so dry though, dry but also wet at the same time and he can’t understand how he can feel so dry inside and so damp on the outside at the same time.

_“You have to move, Steve, come on. You’ll freeze and die, knowing you. Just move, come on, don’t be lazy.”_

_“But I don’t want to. I can’t move, if I move I’ll pass out.”_

_“Don’t be such a baby. Come on, just a little more, we’ll be home soon and I’ll wrap you in all the blankets I have, but you have to move.”_

Is this an actual memory or did he just make it up? He has no idea but he decides to follow whatever advice he was given. Moving seems impossible, threatening and painful but according to what his brain told him, it is effective. He can’t know if it wasn’t a sick trick on him but he came to the conclusion it didn’t really matter. Whether it is going to be better or worse, at least it would end. This is unbearable. The Winter Soldier can’t even care about dying if it means this suffering could be over.

He starts with his legs, he stretches and bends them a couple of times. It doesn’t feel like dying and it seems to defrost some parts of him. He sits up and looks around again. He doesn’t know what he’s doing there, why he’s in a forest, alone and cold, and nothing makes sense. He starts moving his arm before he realizes it hasn’t been long since he got it injured. He screams with pain and pulls his arm to his chest again, his face distorted with pain.

Moving his legs didn’t seem painful so he repeats the move for a few minutes. His breathing is still too fast and he can feel his heart pounding against his ribcage as if it suddenly became twice its size but at least the pain in his limbs went away. After a long discussion with himself he decides to get on his feet and attempt to make a few steps. He turns on his knees and supports himself on his metal arm as he stands up. He checks his surroundings again and he follows his plan.

Walking is actually a lot easier than it seemed as he was still lying on the ground. That encourages him to carry on placing one foot in front of another as he makes his way out of the forest. He holds his flesh arm close to his chest and sometimes he walks blindly straight ahead as keeping his eyes open seems to be too much of exhaustion to him. 

Winter arrives on the river bank. He can see pools of blood and tell where _he_ lay even though the Soldier doesn’t realise how and why he knows that. His brain tells him walking alongside the stream is easier than finding his way through the forest with all the trees surrounding him, and all the caution he could still muster the day before is long gone as his thinking is reduced to solely one purpose - survive.

His head is spinning as if he hit himself in it. He doesn’t remember that, but he can’t truthfully say he remembers much. His whole body is trembling which hurts and confuses him even more. He’s never shaken before, his hands need to be steady. How is he going to shoot his rifle, throw a knife, if his fingers quiver? He searches for his weapons instinctively but he only finds some small dagger and a few meters of a fishing line. Everything else is gone - lying somewhere with _his_ shield and remnants of the vehicle Winter was supposed to guard. He really failed, didn’t he?

For a fleeting moment he considers diving into the river in attempt to retrieve any weapon he might have lost when he jumped in after Captain America. Then he recalls what it felt like - dark, scary and suffocating. He would never dive under the water again. He shakes and secures his knife in its place so that he doesn’t lose it. It’s not much of a weaponry but at least he has something to protect himself with.

_Do not lose weapons. Weapons are expensive and we don’t want others to see them. Always make sure you have everything with you. When someone takes your fire-arm, you make sure to destroy it before they have a chance to examine it. Understood?_

The Soldier frowns as he checks what is left of him. If he were to return back to HYDRA, he would be punished severely and he’d be given as a reward to agents of HYDRA who did well that day. Their treatment seems wrong and somehow makes him feel worse than whatever his keepers do to him even though it’s not more painful. He decides he’s glad he doesn’t have to go back, even though he’s hurting extensively at the moment. At least he knows why he’s hurting now. He was overpowered by Captain America who dislocated his shoulder. Heavy piece of metal fell on his chest and injured him. He failed the mission, he deserves to be punished. He jumped into cold water so he’s suffering from hypothermia. 

He’s been in this situation before. It was long ago, his memories are blurry and he can’t make much sense of them, but he remembers being cold. Back then, there was a different keeper and a different supervisor. The Soldier thinks he liked the recent ones better but he can’t be sure. What did they do to fix him? Maybe he could imitate it.

_He’s wearing strange clothes. Unsuitable, impractical. Where should he put his knives, his guns? It’s covering his metal arm, causing it to heat up and lessening the range of movement. He’s wrapped up in something as if he was tied up, but it’s looser and it doesn’t really restrain him. He wiggles to free himself._

_“Прекрати!” someone utters and looks harshly at Winter. The Soldier obeys and lies still, hoping he didn’t anger his ward-men. Soon, his body hurts but he feels better which is weird because he was always told pain indicates troubles. He closes his eyes and since nobody says anything against it, he keeps them closed._

He can’t make too much out of this memory, but apparently strange clothes that seem impractical and useless could help. He holds the picture in his mind as he evaluates his possibilities. He keeps walking and the scenery is changing around him. He realizes he’ll be in a city soon and he reluctantly changes his direction to hide from people. He had seen this type of clothes before, he knows people keep it, but how can he obtain it without showing himself to them?

Soon enough, there really is a city in front of him. It’s huge and scary and comforting at the same time. High buildings and colorful placards seem familiar but something is odd about them. Winter Soldier almost sits down under a bridge but he changes his mind when he recalls how he felt lying down. No, he can’t sit down until he’s in the weird garments and wrapped in a furry piece of cloth. People keep them in their homes, don’t they?

He hadn’t been in a home for ages, he can’t even explain why he thinks he might be able to acquire whatever he needs in somebody’s home. He can only remember Pierce’s flat, but that didn’t seem like home to Winter. It was too empty, too impersonal. 

Homes are not located in the tallest buildings. There are houses lining the river, he can see them and they seem like homes. He doesn’t know how to ask for the clothes. He wants to do it, but he can’t let people see him. It seems to him he should ask for it, maybe offer something in return. But he doesn’t have anything, he can’t give anything as a payback for clothes. All he has is himself - his destructive power, his limited supply of weapons and what he is wearing. Maybe he could give them his vest, his belts and his pants. It strikes him as suitable - he takes clothes, he gives them in return. 

_No traces, no clues, no evidence. Never leave anything behind. Never let anyone see you. Never talk to anyone unless it’s necessary, never walk on clean floor in dirty boots, never walk across a fresh and damp pool of mud._

Winter Soldier climbs up the shore of the river and stands on the road. The neighborhood seems calm and quiet until he realises it’s dark. After that, he knows why there are just few people outside. He chooses one house on the end of one street that is all dark and quiet. 

He knows his work is going to be delicate. He didn’t have much choice to be subtle when breaking into houses on his previous assignments, but he thinks he can manage. As far as he knows, it wouldn’t be the first time but his mind likes to play tricks on him. He looks around and makes sure nobody is watching him before he makes his way towards the house. He walks around it to see if there is some back door not visible from the road. The house is surrounded by a fence. It’s not difficult to get over it but Winter is mildly worried by the fact how useless his right arm is. Maybe he really should report back to HYDRA, he doesn’t think any of his injuries took so long to cure.

Just like he assumed, there is a door leading to the garden where he’s currently standing. He tries to open the door in case  he’s lucky and it’s not locked. It doesn’t give way so he takes out his knife and places the tip into the lock as quietly as he can. He’s glad he kept his knife instead of a gun because he can’t imagine what he could do with a gun in this situation. He concentrates on the lock and after a few minutes the door finally clicks and he can step inside. He navigates through the house as if he’s been there already. There are more rooms than he’d expect to see. He remembers the purposes of some of them and it makes him scream desperately on the inside.

He doesn’t know why he knows the purpose of this exact room, he thinks it looked differently when he used to use it, but he still connects warmth with this room. He feels like a child standing in front of a sweets shop. He can’t explore how this room works - he assumes he would find out how to do so - because that’s not why he came and he would give himself away. 

_Be like a shadow, noiseless, faceless but omnipresent._

He forces himself to leave the room. It hurts him physically, his body which remembers much more than his damaged mind protests against leaving but he can’t give in to his desires. Finally, he stumbles upon a room that contains clothes. He takes several pieces into his hands and unfolds them to see what purpose they might have. It takes him a while to find something that wouldn’t be too small, but finally he has some pieces he can guess the purpose of. He also finds a baseball cap which he takes with him because even though it’s not as good as his goggles to hide his face, it might work a little. Once he has all he wanted in his arms, he wonders what to do. He doesn’t want to carry his old clothes around, he can’t leave them lying around anywhere. 

He decides to change right there in the house and figure that out later. Taking off the cold and damp vest feels like getting the greatest reward in the whole world. He almost sighs with relief. All the belts with unnecessary cases and armor follow right after. As he takes of his one-sleeved jacket and undershirt, he becomes conscious of the water on his skin. He’s wet and he doesn’t have to have much experience with dressing to know it would be a bad idea to put something on when he’s like this. He removes the rest of his attire quickly and he stands naked in the closet, wondering what to do. He figures out that despite it not being the primary function of a t-shirt, he can get himself dry with it. He executes this idea.

Winter Soldier discovers another fascinating thing about his body. Rubbing the cloth against his body feels pleasant. Being dry feels nice too. 

He puts on what he chose for himself - a white pair of boxers, black socks with green heel and toes that say ‘Friday’, a pair of dark blue jeans he has to secure with a leather belt, a slightly too big Iron Maiden t-shirt, a green sweater and a black jacket. He places the cap on his head as well. He feels the effect immediately. Being cold doesn’t seem to be a problem anymore and he’s overjoyed. At last he puts on his own boots because they’re his and he came to the conclusion that other person’s shoes wouldn’t feel so comfortable. 

He picks his old clothes up and searches for anything useful he might have had. He doesn’t have anything but the fishing line and knife he found earlier and a box of matches that is soaked wet and therefore useless. He puts it back into the pocket where it was. With the heap in his hands, he walks out of the closet. He originally heads for the door but something in the kitchen catches his eye.

There’s a bottle of water standing on the kitchen counter. The Soldier immediately recalls his evaluation of the situation from couple of hours ago. There were several indications his body was malfunctioning and with the hypothermia being the most severe, he pushed the others away. Now when he wasn’t freezing anymore, he could feel the dryness inside him which certainly didn’t feel pleasant. He knows he used to fight this dryness with bottles like this one; on a longer mission somewhere far from civilization, his companion would have a bottle like this and give it to him to drink from.

Winter abandons all caution and takes the bottle into his hands quickly. His hands take some time to remove the cap but afterwards he pours the liquid down his throat with all his might. When he drinks about a quarter of it, it stops being so pleasant so he stops. There are memories warning him what might happen if he ignored the unpleasant feeling in his stomach and he decides to listen to them. He closes the bottle again and takes it with him just like he saw his guards do it. 

On his way out, he avoids looking longingly at bathrooms and he sneaks out of the door just as quietly as he got inside. He gives the house an apologetic gaze as if he could somehow pay off what he took inside. The Soldier closes the door behind him and makes his way towards the fence again. He throws his clothes and his new possession over it and follows it shortly after. When he sees the river’s surface glisten in the lights of the city, he has an idea of what he’s going to do with his old clothing. He runs across the road almost joyfully without any obvious reasons. He still feels lost, exhausted and has no idea what to do, but at least he stopped being HYDRA’s  property. He killed the voice in his mind telling him he would never stop being theirs as he threw his old clothes down into the stream. 

Winter Soldier stands above the Potomac river and looks at the stars that shine almost invisibly above his head. He doesn’t know where he’s going but he knows there are many things he has to learn before he can. One of those would be finding out who James Buchanan Barnes was - is? - because the name does sound familiar. Maybe it doesn’t ring a bell, but it might have made a jingle bell flutter and chink.


End file.
